Spring arrives this weekend and my hibernation must end. It's time for this old California bear to yawn, scratch and blog.
For some reason I can't grow corn out here in eastern Tijuana. Chilis, cucumbers, tomatoes, grapes even strawberries all flourish in the depleted soil around my Palacial Wooden Shack. My neighbors call my place 'La Celba(The Jungle). I tell them, "Welcome to it."
It doesn't bother me too much that I can't grow corn. That's because every year my Mexican Marigolds kick butt! They're the ones used on the altars during Los Dias de Los Muertos. I buy the seed packets at the Home Depot off the 2000 corridor. The packets are really cool because the label reads; Semillas de Cempasuchil Grande Doble variado (Rosa de los Indios).
In pre Columbiam meso american culture, the flower represents not just the plant but also truth. It is a symbol for a positive character trait. The flowers attract hummingbirds and butterflies. In that same pre Columbian culture the spirits of warriors who died would return to earth in the forms of hummingbirds or butterflies. I was told that this occurred because armed combat five hundred years ago was much more personal. You looked your enemy in the eye and used a club, knife or atlatl. Because the hand to hand combat was so brutal, many veteran warriors wound up looking pretty hideous what with all the scars. They were rewarded by returning to earth as some of its most beautiful and delicate of creatures.

In todays UT I read that Calderon has capitulated to Obama and is allowing US military drones to violate the sovereignty of Mexican territory. Of course the drones are unarmed. For now. But that will change. The US can't defeat the Muslim insurgency so the military industrial complex must find a new enemy to fool the US population into forking over tax dollars to kill people that for the most part just want to be left alone. I firmly believe that drones are the rich man's IED's just as the improvised explosive devices are poor man's drones. They are both cowardly ways to exterminate your opponent. Man up and use your bare hands you cowards on all sides. I've spent almost a half century on this mothership called earth. Nearly all of it in a corridor from Los Angeles to Ensenada. With places like Long Beach, Murietta, North Park, Holtville and Tijuana in between. For me as a child, Tijuana was always a stop before heading down the winding road to Ensenada. Our family would pause each summer in Tijuana and unload boxes of old clothes and topys. We didn't have garage sales in those days.We just gave our old stuff away. My grandpa and uncles would be caravaning thru town looking for needy people. It never took long. They'd pull over near some shanties, open the trunks and the folks would gather quickly. My first memory of Tijuana is of me at about five years of age. I'm looking out the back window of our family car as we pull away and screaming at the top of my lungs, "No, not that toy! Who put my Spider Man hand puppet in the box, nooo!" I cried all the way to L:a Bufadora. Scarred me for life I tell you. Maybe that's why I returnhed to Tijuana over four decades later. I'm still looking for that fricken Spider Man puppet from back in 1967. Maybe a shrink can explain to me how I got from Mexican Marigolds to a Spider Man puppet but I can't afford one and that's probably a good thing. Anyway, as I sit here on my front porch I now realize, that in the end, only the flowers matter. COFFEE'S READY, GOTTA GO...!!!

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